Page 15 of Fish and Chip: Nine Lives One Murder
The courtyard of Magical Marvels Hollow glows with warm illuminations from the lanterns as staff bustle about lighting copper fixtures that line the cobblestone paths. The blue castle pulses with an inner glow, catching the fading sunlight and shooting rainbow prisms every which way.
I’m still processing the whirlwind of the last few hours. One minute I was a woman fleeing her cheating podcast-guru husband with nothing but my dignity and a fluffy orange cat, the next I’m apparently the manager of an entire theme park. Life comes at you fast—sometimes at rickety roller coaster speeds with questionable safety protocols.
“Stop looking so shell-shocked.” Ree nudges me. “You’re the boss now. Channel your inner queen.”
“I’m practicing my cool and capable expression,” I say, trying to lift my chin.
“Right now, you look like someone casually trying to leave acrime scene.” Georgie chimes in, adjusting her collapsible Ferris wheel hat that can put an entire fleet of hats at the Kentucky Derby to shame. “Try less panic, more poise.”
The courtyard is a harvest fever dream. Pumpkins in every hue crowd hay bales turned into seating. Miles and miles of crimson and gold maple leaf garlands drape over archways. Giant copper pots spill over with rust-colored mums. The whole scene smells like cinnamon had a baby with an apple orchard and raised it on caramel. In other words, scrumptiously delicious.
Fish pokes her head from Georgie’s tote, her whiskers twitching at the sensory overload. And I get it. My own whiskers are twitching. Don’t judge. I’ve got a blooming beard that needs plucking, too.
Well, at least someone around here knows how to decorate,Fish mewls as she takes it all in.Tasteful and restrained. Not a blow-up pumpkin in sight.
I press my lips tight because blow-up holiday décor happens to be my specialty.
Wow. That almost sounded like a compliment,Chip teases from my own tote, standing on his hind legs to get a better view.Are you feeling okay? Should I take your temperature with a meat thermometer?
Try it and see what happens, you overgrown orange.Fish sniffs.I’m just glad the pumpkins aren’t malfunctioning.
Whatever you say.Chip’s attention shifts abruptly.Wait—is that apple-smoked bacon I detect? And funnel cake? AND caramel corn? This job of yours is looking better by the minute, Josie.
“Your priorities never change, do they?” I murmur to him.
I’m just focused. Plus, recon for fallen snacks is critical work.
The courtyard buzzes with activity like someone kicked a very elegant beehive. Travel writers in cut blazers and sensible shoes mingle with wine glasses in hand. Conference badges flash like honor medals. Food tables groan under the weight of caramel apples, cider donuts, and pumpkin whoopie pies.Costumed staff drift past us dressed like maple trees complete with falling leaves. Don’t ask.
Eddie and Edie Merryweather spot us from across the courtyard, waving with the manic enthusiasm of people who’ve just unloaded a struggling business on an unsuspecting victim. They begin working their way toward us, stopping frequently to chat with guests.
“Oh, my word,” Georgie breathes, scanning the crowd like a predator spotting wounded prey. “That silver fox by the cider station has retirement fund and no ex-wife written all over his Italian leather shoes. If you’ll excuse me, I need to investigate whether he has a pulse and a portfolio.”
“Georgie,” I all but hiss, “we’re here in a professional capacity. I just got this job. I’d hate to lose it so soon.”
“Exactly why I need to secure us a wealthy sponsor,” she calls over her shoulder, already halfway to her target, her hat bobbing through the crowd like a deranged lighthouse. And Fish hops out of her tote bag just in time. “Think of it as corporate networking with romantic potential! You know, just in case you get the axe before the night is through.”
She has a point.
“Let her go,” Ree advises, eyeing the buffet with some serious focus as if she’s planning a strategic theme park campaign. “I’m making a beeline for that corn dog station. I already have a boyfriend, but there’s no double-deep-fried corn dog in my life. A woman has needs. I’m going to shove five in my mouth at once.”
“You do realize I’m trying to make a good first impression, right?” I ask the empty air where my friends stood just seconds ago.
Already abandoned. Tragic,Fish sighs as she looks around.
Chip hops out of my tote bag and lands next to her.It’s less tragic and more of a necessity if you ask me. Thehat and the corn dogs wouldn’t be doing you any favors, Josie. But two cute kitties in your midst? You’ve got it made in the theme park shade.
Who are you calling cute?Fish winks his way before shoving her tail in his face.Follow me, Josie. I’ll lead you to the best tuna.
“Not helping,” I mutter, plastering on my most professional smile—the one that saysI totally know what I’m doingrather thanI found this job on the internet during an emotional breakdown road trip—as the Merryweathers finally reach me.
“Josie! You’re here!” Edie clasps my hands warmly. “Come, there are so many people you should meet.”
What follows is a whirlwind of introductions that blur together until three distinct individuals emerge from the crowd. The first is a woman with silver hair so perfectly coiffed it looks like it could deflect bullets and possibly small missiles. Her silk pantsuit screams generational wealth, and her stiletto heels are absolutely impractical for a venue with cobblestone paths, suggesting either masochistic tendencies or superhuman balance.
“Vivian Templeton,” she introduces herself with a handshake that’s precise, firm, and about two seconds too short, like she’s on a handshake budget. “Editor-in-Chief atElite Escapes.” Her gaze sweeps over me with the cool assessment of a critic who’s already found me wanting and is mentally composing a scathing review. “The Merryweathers tell me you’ll be managing this... um,establishment.”
I can’t help but note she’s wearing a vest with an impressive amount of commemorative park pins. I’m sort of a sucker for those kinds of things myself. Clyde said that I was a sucker for anything that cost him money. Wait until he sees the alimony I’m seeking. He’ll quickly realize the only sucker in this equation is him.
